Ir(Rational)
by gablaar
Summary: The inability to breathe isn't an experience that liked to avoid Blaine Anderson.
1. Chapter 1

Originally I posted this over at my tumblr (where most of my fic can be found, I hardly post anything here - .com) for a Blangst prompt.

**Warnings for the whole story:** Child abuse/neglect. Claustraphobia. Description of a panic attack.

**Sadly, I own nothing. **

* * *

He can remember what it was like before the fear got to him. Before that cold, creeping dread would gnaw at his stomach, twist his guts and send tremors racing through his entire being. At one point in his life this all consuming terror would make him feel safe. Protected. Loved. Like nothing could reach him if he made himself that little bit smaller, small enough to squeeze into gaps between furniture in his room and the space under his bed.

He'd looked it up once. A few years ago when it all started, when everything was getting to _that_ point.

**Claustrophobia - Noun - an abnormal/extreme/irrational fear of being closed in or of being in a confined space. **

He spent hours barricaded behind his bedroom door when he was fifteen looking up symptoms until his eyes blurred and he felt faintly ill. Because all the websites said the same thing, it's a phobia that develops mainly due to 'traumatic events'.

And apparently it develops.

Which Blaine muses from the cold tiled floor of his en-suite, makes quite a lot of sense. He's gone from never blinking over if he could fit under his desk for hide-and-seek, to feeling mildly uncomfortable, to this.

The inability to breathe isn't an experience that liked to avoid Blaine Anderson.

The first time he can recall he was six, and his father had back handed him into their coffee table for trading his Action Man for a Beanie Baby at school. He ended up only being winded (now that looks like a fucking blessing), with a bruise along his back and the knowledge that next time he was in trouble and daddy threatened to _'smack you into next week, boy'_ he'll probably attempt it.

At eleven he'd dived a little bit too enthusiastically off of the side of their Grandparents pool in the Hamptons, smacked his head and fallen into the water. Thankfully, Cooper had been on a sun lounger critiquing and dived in right away, forcing the chlorine flavoured water out of his lungs with the heel of his hand.

At fourteen he'd gone to a Sadie Hawkins dance and been left unconscious and bleeding as his lungs struggled to expand enough to inhale oxygen.

Sitting with his back rigid against his bath tub, Blaine dug through the extensive First Aid kit to his left one handed, his right arm cradled protectively against his chest, as he sucked in deep breaths of not-nearly-enough air. He'd been let out just under an hour ago, falling to the floor and refusing to cry, (crying was a weakness in the eyes of his father) and scrambling away on pure adrenaline lest his dad decided to come back and have another go.

Now though, trying to stay upright long enough to wrap his aching bones, clean the cuts and ice the bruises, he'd given up on trying to wipe away the tears when his arm hurt from banging on the closet door, throat raw from begging, screaming, pleading to be let out, _"I'll be good I promise, I promise dad." _

His old boxing coach probably had no idea how useful the information about instant ice-packs for sports injuries would be, he thought bitterly as he gingerly picked himself up, packed away his supplies making notes over what needed to be replaced, avoided the mirror (he'd deal with the damage done to his face tomorrow) and stumbled back into his bedroom.

Checking the lock on the door was secure (if his dad couldn't get in, he wouldn't break down the door, he'd loose interest and find something other than beating the shit out of his youngest son to do so at least he can sleep properly) Blaine undressed slowly, crawled into bed in just his boxers and reached for his phone.

_Kurt:__  
__Airports suck. So do the assholes on power trips who make you take off your shoes to go through security._

Rubbing under his eyes gently and sniffing Blaine smiled tiredly over the new text from Kurt, Blaine tapped out a reply, wincing every now and again at the strain it caused his arm.

_To_ _Kurt_:  
_I'm going to assume that your flight is at a ridiculous hour?_

_Kurt:__  
__3 am. Who the hell decided middle of the night air travel was a good idea? I'm running on pure coffee now._

_Kurt:__  
__Rachel has no off button, Blaine! She will not stop texting me. __  
_

_To Kurt:__  
__You love Rachel__Kurt:__  
__Doesn't mean I don't want to strangle her most days. I'll let you sleep...I'm surprised you're even awake actually. I'll talk to you tomorrow...or later today I guess? Night x_

The 'x' is a new development. The guy that Kurt was seeing at the start of the year is long gone now. Blaine still doesn't know why, Kurt won't tell him anything other than _"it wasn't right" _and Blaine's not really sure he'd even want to know any details if he had the chance anyway. But ever since then Kurt had been putting little kisses, never more than one or two, but always there when they said goodnight. His heart flutters stupidly over it every damn time too. Because he'll take anything, anything Kurt is willing to give if it means he can have that beautiful, untainted part of his life back in some way.

After wishing Kurt a safe flight Blaine snuggled down under his thick duvet, praying to a God he couldn't bring himself to believe in that he'd sleep through the night and wake up in less pain.

* * *

_The dark was slowly closing in on him. Reaching out with smoke-like fingers that taunted him, pulling at his clothes and stroking fleetingly against his skin. A constant game of cat-and-mouse. _

_Throwing his body at the solid door he grew more desperate. The skin of his hands slowly turning black and blue from pounding on the walls, fingernails shredded from trying to claw his way free, throat raw from screaming for someone, anyone to help him. To let him out. _

_"I'll be good daddy! I'll be good! Please, please let me out...I won't do it again!"_

_His heart felt like it was trying to beat it's way out of his chest, slamming relentlessly against his rib cage as he became more and more frantic in his attempt to escape. _

_"You should have stayed in the fucking closet, faggot!" _

_Shaking his head back and forth, eyes screwed shut as if it would block out the voices, the sneers and insults, as if it wasn't pitch black already in here. His hands scrabbled at everything they landed on, scratching at wood, pulling at door handles and banging on concrete, tugging his collar loose, tearing the buttons off because it would not stop tightening no matter how much he pulled. _

_"No! Dad, DAD PLEASE." _

_This was his life now. More so now that his mother had up and left at the start of the year. "Couldn't handle a fag for a son. THIS IS YOUR FAULT."__"I'm sorry dad."_

_He could feel the walls moving, feel them getting closer with every breath until he wasn't breathing. Wasn't moving so much as shaking, vibrating with fear and clutching at his neck as those fucking walls moved towards him, following after the darkness. _

_Spots invaded his vision, distorting the already tunneling images and confusing him more as he screamed despite the dwindling amount of oxygen in his lungs. _

* * *

Screaming, Blaine jerked awake with his heart hammering and body trembling in terror. Forcing himself into a sitting position, Blaine scrambled for his nightstand, ripping open the top drawer and shoving things aside until his hand recognised the inhaler, jamming it into his mouth and pressing down as he tried to swallow enough air to calm down.

He should be used it. Nightmares always came after a beating where he ended up _there_. Memories and his imagination morphing into a single, twisted event, coming to consciousness just before it felt like his heart was going to stop, only to realise that he couldn't _breath_ in the real world either.

Because it was real, wasn't it?

That all consuming, mind numbing fear from his dreams wasn't fabricated. It was a product of 'traumatic events'. Of when his dad got angry and smacked him around as a kid for dropping a glass. For a bad grade on his report card. For being gay.

Blinking back tears he tugged the covers over his head, trying and failing to block out the memories. Last night wasn't the longest he'd ever gone locked in that closet; he'd been in there for over a day before, but it was one of his longer 'visits'. Five hours.

Five fucking hours of crying, and screaming, and begging to be let out after his dad all but jumped him when he got in from a school council meeting, yelling at him for something. It never really matters what it's about, the result is always one or the other. He'll get smacked about before his dad will lose interest and disappear into his office, these, along with being ignored completely, are the days Blaine crosses his fingers for when his dad is actually home.

Because he'd take that, take feeling worthless over the chance of being beaten and then locked into that closet. The small, narrow, tiny one that his mother had used for her coats before she left. The one that caused Blaine to shiver every time he so much as glanced at it, that came alive when he closed his eyes and helped pave the way over the years since coming out to his _'irrational fear'. _

* * *

How he made it to school Blaine didn't know. His head was throbbing despite the extra dosage of pain pills he'd knocked back. The black eye was hidden under a mountain of cover-up; his ribs, right wrist and hand were wrapped tightly; he had emergency ice packs in his bag and walked stiffly to avoid putting too much pressure on his sprained ankle and bruised thigh.

He was running a few minutes late by the time he hobbled through the main entrance, concentrating so hard on not collapsing from sheer exhaustion, physical and mental, that he never even heard them until it was too late.

Rough, meaty, too large to be safe hands grabbed him from behind, another set gripping his most injured side while a different set covered his eyes and mouth. A scream attempted to rip through despite the hand muffling it and the ripped feeling his throat still held from yesterday.

A sharp jab was delivered to his stomach in response. Adrenaline burned it's way through his veins, running along side the fear that gradually building from the second their fingers landed on him.

He was all but thrown through a door, hitting the floor hard enough that the breath was knocked out of him in a wheeze, choking his ability to cry out at the pain that radiated through his body.

"Time to go back in the closet, fag."

_"Back in the closet faggot."__  
__"It's where you belong."__  
__"This is your choice."__  
__"Be a real man."_

Ice cold hands gripped his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs as the door to the tiny, rammed janitor's closet slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. He knew it was futile but Blaine couldn't stop himself from crashing into the door, frantically pounding at the wood, bordering on hysterical now as the jeering voices faded.

Gasping, Blaine alternated between clawing at the door, his throat and chest, sobbing as the door remained stubbornly shut and the walls began to close in.

_I'm going to die._


	2. Chapter 2

**Warnings are the same as before...**

**Sadly, I own nothing.**

* * *

Blaine's discovered over the last few years that fear has this nasty little habit of gradually getting worse. Sometimes, if you're lucky, you grow out of it. Like being scared of the Boogie Man under the bed, or monsters that hide in the dark.

He stopped being afraid of the boggy man at four when he army-crawled under his bed, flash light in one hand, bike helmet on, skipping rope tide around his waist and bed post with a soft ball bat at the ready to fight off the monster. He never did find the Boogie Man's lair.

Fear of the dark, however, that's a little bit harder to fight, especially when it directly reminds him of his time in the hall closet. For Blaine, they go hand in hand.

**Achluophobia - Noun - and abnormal/irrational fear of the night or darkness.**

It made sense to him, the closet is always dark, and his nightmares always take place in pitch black; why wouldn't he be afraid of the dark? He slept with his curtains cracked to let light from the street outside spill into his room.

But this...this is too much. There's a sliver of light under the crack of the door but it's not enough to help him calm down.

He can't _breathe._

His entire upper body is more battered than it was when he stumbled into school to begin with, repeatedly smashing into the walls and doors, hands scrabbling uselessly at anything and everything they hit, screams ripping their way from his chest, tearing at his throat and falling on deaf ears beyond the walls.

Walls that were closing in; he could feel them pressing against him on all sides, crushing him until he was curled in on himself, knees pressed tight to his abdominal muscles in the foetal position, rocking back and forth as his hands alternate between trying to free himself and gripping at his hair. He was vaguely aware of his fingers bleeding, stinging as he clawed at the surfaces surrounding him.

_"But I'll be good...please don't make me go in there, dad...I'll be better I promise."_

"Please, help me."

_"Get the fuck in there."_

_Can't breathe..._

A choke off sob broke through his bitten down lips, as he began to slam his back against the concrete wall behind him, tears streaming down his face as black dots swarmed his vision. His fingers dug their way under the gel in his hair, tearing at it - trying to use the pain in an attempt to ground himself (it had worked before, a tried and tested method of his) -but his body was shaking too much to do anything other than try to hang on and gasp down that ever allusive oxygen.

_Breathe._

_"She left us because of YOU!"__"I'm sorry."__Breathe...just fucking breathe._

_"DAD! DAD, PLEASE LET ME OUT! DAD! DADDY!"_

_Breathe, Blaine.__"Fag."__  
_  
"Hello? Is someone there?"

_"She should've gotten that fucking abortion." _

_It's not real._

_"Useless." _

"Hello?"

_"Worthless piece of crap."_

_It's all in your fucking head so just BREATHE._

If Blaine hadn't been so far into his own mind, all but submerged in fully fledged panic he may have noticed the door being thrown open and a body leaning to kneel in front of him, hands raised in surrender.

Instead he whimpered, kept his eyes slammed shut and backed even further into his corner, the sobbing reaching hysteria in his terror.

"-aine...Blaine...Bl...wrong?" Another voice joined in with the ones screaming inside his mind. Hands gripped at his shaking shoulders, pulled futilely at the fingers tugging his hair out by the roots. "Bla...ine...SOMEONE HELP ME!"

He wasn't aware of the other student upending his bag, shoving books and papers and random objects aside until they spotted his little blue inhaler, moving slowly to sit by his side. Gentle hands pushed his hair, now torn free from it's gelled down prison, stroking over his arms since trying to move him from his position cowering on the floor wasn't working.

_For fucks sake, breathe! _Blaine whimpered again, (_why is there no air?)_ sucking in deep lungful after lungful of oxygen that seemed to be doing fuck all. The little black dots dancing around every time he cracked his eyes seemed to be bleeding into each other, turning the edges of his vision fuzzy, like a bad quality black and white movie, tunnelling to one point that he couldn't even focus on. Even with his eyes screwed shut his head spun.

_It's just fear. It's not rational. It's just fear._

Half formed sentences forced themselves into his consciousness, he became aware of someone talking but for the life of him nothing was making sense anymore.

"Some...pl...help!" _It's not real; walls don't move...ohgodohgodohgod..._

"Mar - wha..."

"Get help. NOW...it's okay...Blai...oh God!"

_I'm dying...this is what dying feels like._

"...fuck happened?" New hands replaced the ones on his shoulders, larger, warmer ones that cupped the sides of his neck as Marley got up from his side to stand by Finn and Brittany in the hall, out of sight from the two boys but there if they were needed.

"Blaine,"

_Breathe...c'mon brea-_

"Honey. Honey, I need you to look at me."

"Breathe, Blaine. You can do it,"

_Breathe._

Whiskey coloured eyes snapped open to stare frantically into ice-blue ones.

_Breathe._

And then the dark got him.

* * *

"Is he-"

"-don't know-"

"-here...help me get him-"

Words and voices overlapped as they broke their way into his consciousness. Whimpering slightly Blaine turned his head away from the light he could feel trying to get behind his still screwed shut eyelids, burying his face into something soft and warm.

"Shh, it's okay, Blaine - guys he's...yeah, we can handle this...many people...freak him out more."

He could feel the arms around him, because he was being carried but at the moment Blaine didn't have the energy, let alone the presence of mind to be embarrassed about that just yet. Instead he mumbled something, what he wasn't even sure of himself, as he was lowered carefully onto something soft, one set of hands brushing back his hair and rubbing gently at his cheek while smaller, slightly less steady hands wrapped around one of his still trembling ones.

"Blaine, honey, you need to open your eyes okay?" a gentle, familiar voice spoke near his ear. He knew that voice...didn't he? It made him feel safer, better anyway so Blaine hoped it wouldn't stop talking to him.

Whimpering he batted with free hand at the ones by his head, opening his eyes would just bring everything back - didn't the voice know that? This odd fever dream (is it a fever dream when you're passed out from a panic attack and not an actual fever?) was much more preferable to being awake and trapped and slowly suffocating to death. Opening his eyes would just ruin the illusion. He'd always believed that the whole 'suffocation is like falling asleep' was a load of crap but this seemed to be proving it all right so far. It was a nice way to die, considering he was starting to think he'd be beaten to death instead.

"You're okay now, Blaine." A different, still familiar but only just, voice joined...more feminine than the other. "You're safe."

_You're safe. _Blaine's not sure he's been really, truly 'safe' for years. What an odd thing to say.

"C'mon baby..."

_You're okay now, you're safe._ He certainly felt like he was, but could he trust that feeling? He used to feel safe with Kurt until he messed everything up. And even then that was a brief, wonderful respite from his every day life. _Nothing lasts forever, Blaine._ The last words his mother ever said to him before she walked out and never looked back.

Groaning, Blaine shuffled slightly, feeling the sheets crinkle underneath him on the...bed? Well that certainly felt real. So did the warm, shaky hands clutching at different parts of his body...you weren't supposed to feel something like that in dreams were you? Blinking his eyes open Blaine squinted around the room, his vision was still fuzzy, like an out-of-focus photograph, but he recognised enough to place himself in the room just off of the nurse's office.

Marley was sat in a chair by his hips, hands clasped over his left hand, absentmindedly massaging his knuckles as she bit back tears.

"Blaine, sweetie?" Kurt's voice broke through the haze, relief prominent in every syllable. His sea-green eyes, wide with just barely disguised panic locked onto his still confused ones. He was always disorientated after a panic attack but this seemed different - what the hell was Kurt doing cradling his head and shoulders like he thought he would break?

"Ku-rt?" He blinked at the slur in his voice, "Mar-ley? Whaa...I-I don't."

"Shh, it's okay, you were locked in a closet Blaine," Marley hushed him, looking all the while like she was fighting back tears, "I could hear you in there...you were - you really scared me."

"M'sorry."

The younger girl shook her head sharply, staring at the boy in the bed, "Don't you dare be sorry. I'm just glad I found you in time; you weren't breathing properly."

Rolling his head to the side, becoming aware of the dampness on his face as he did so, to look at Kurt. The other boy - man now - was raking his eyes over every inch of him, analysing every little detail.

"I'll leave you two alone," Marley got up to leave, pressing a firm kiss to Blaine's forehead and squeezing Kurt's shoulder as she walked out.

"Here, you're probably calm enough to have this now." His inhaler was pressed against his lips, any other person would have handed it to him but Blaine couldn't be anything other than grateful because there was no way his hand would be able to function enough to do that just yet. "Ready?"

Removing the medication after a moment Kurt rolled his chair down a fraction to get a better view of his ex. Blaine was still staring around the room; trying to figure out where he was and how in the hell he'd gotten there. Nothing was making any sense to him.

"You passed out."

"What?"

"I was meeting Finn for lunch, I was gonna surprise everyone in Glee club today, and Brit comes tearing into the choir room crying about you being possessed." He shook his head, one hand running through his uncharacteristically messy hair, laughing hollowly. "I've never been more terrified in my life when I saw you. You'd backed yourself into a corner and were rocking as you cried and you, you couldn't _breathe_ Blaine...you looked like you were pulling your hair out," the fingers brushing the curls by his ear moved to stroke over his head, "you just - what the fuck was that?"

"I don't," clearing his throat Blaine shook his head, trying to focus more on the man sitting beside him, "my head hurts."

"Okay...I'm gonna take you home okay. No one's answering at your place and you need someone to keep an eye on you for a little bit; it's just in case you hit your head or something while you were alone," he added quickly to ease Blaine's confusion.

"No...no, I don't...not home."

"Shh, okay, it's okay I'm just going to take you to mine honey."

Blaine shook his head, eyes closing because he hadn't been to Kurt's house since the other boy had left for New York last year - when they were still _them, _ how was he supposed to do it now? But Kurt's couldn't take him home in case his dad was there.

"No arguing, c'mon." Kurt wrapped an arm under his back, gently lifting him up until he was sitting, breathing heavily, leant against Kurt's chest before moving even slower to get to his feet. Kurt grabbed his school bag from the table next to them, adjusted his grip around Blaine's waist and hoisted his un-bandaged arm over his shoulders, supporting pretty much all of Blaine's weight as they slowly made their way to Finn's truck. After helping him in awkwardly, Kurt jogged around to the driver's side, turning on the ignition and reaching over to cup Blaine's cheek, thumb running feather-light under his bruised, but hopefully still covered, eye. He didn't want to think too hard about the look of rage taking over Kurt's face now that he seemed to have reassured himself that Blaine was okay for the present moment.

"Go to sleep, sweetie. We'll talk later."

Nodding Blaine let himself get dragged back under, only this time he went willingly, welcoming the dark instead of fighting it.

_Breathe._

* * *

**_...thoughts?_**


	3. Chapter 3

Blaine wasn't really aware of how he got here, on Kurt's bed surrounded by his soft faux-fur throw. He could hear the other boy downstairs, talking on the phone he guessed since he could only deduce the muffled sounds of Kurt's voice. The blinking digits on Kurt's alarm clock showed it to be part way through second period by now.

Groaning in pain as he rolled onto his side, curling his legs up to his chest, he closed his eyes against the week spring light filtering it's way through the clouds outside and pulled the blanket up over his eyes so that only the top of his head was visible. Sleep kept creeping up on him, dancing tauntingly along the very edge of his consciousness, fingers crooked to beckon him only to pull away at the last minute.

That was a good though, wasn't it? He didn't want to sleep; no matter how tempting it was.

Was it possible to be afraid of going to sleep? Maybe he should look that up, to add it to the never ending list of things that terrified him. Things that his dad liked to use against him; _"Maybe it'll straighten you out."_

He could still hear Kurt's voice, though he sounded less angry now and more tired than anything. Blaine's still muddled brain wouldn't let him focus long enough to attempt to wonder why his ex-boyfriend sounded so downtrodden, jumping from one distorted thought to another as he tried and failed to ignore the pain slowly but surely making itself known again.

It was the one constant Blaine had in his life now, he used to have Kurt too until last year, but pain...it was something that had been there since childhood and stayed with him through the years. Whether it was at the hands of his father giving him the occasional smack (that would soon become far more frequent and brutal), to the bullies who evolved from pushing him in the playground for his lunch money to beating him into a coma outside of a school dance.

Sometimes he wonders if pain will always be a part of his life. He's growing accustomed to heartache lately and it's getting harder and harder to hide behind the rush of performing. Even with regionals coming up he can't seem to find the joy in glee that much any more; he still goes because it's one of the only good parts of his life lately - it also get's him out of the house on the times when his dad isn't camping out at his office in downtown Columbus.

The dull ache in his ribs is demanding more and more attention now, pulling Blaine farther away from the release of sleep (unless, of course, he falls into another nightmare). Squeezing his shut even tighter, Blaine curled into himself more, knees pressing into his torso just that little bit more, drawing some of the attention from his now-screaming-again ribs to the throbbing in his left thigh and ankle from where his dad had kicked him once he'd been knocked to the ground.

All the boxing lessons, training that he still kept up with seemed to be doing fuck all in terms of helping him defend himself from his dad. He does manage to protect parts of his body on a good day but that man can paralyse him so much more easily than the panic of being trapped can. So much so that it caused all of his knowledge on how to defend himself, on how to lay-out someone twice his size to vanish from his mind, left him as powerless as he felt that very first time, six years old, eyes water-filled and clutching a Beanie Baby puppy to his chest.

Swallowing down bile he could feel worming its way up his oesophagus and blinking back tears gradually building Blaine snuggled down further under the soft fur. He'd always loved Kurt's bed better than his, granted his was a King size instead of Queen but Kurt's mattress was so much comfier, his covers that little bit thicker in the winter and cooler in the summer months.

He must have drifted off for a few moments because he jolted awake violently as the bed dipped by his feet.

Whimpering Blaine tugged the blanket up over his head entirely, trying to shrink even more in his sleep-addled state, taking a minute to remember exactly where he was when Kurt's hand landed on his side, stroking up and down in a soothing manner.

"Blaine...it's just me."

" 'm sorry."

"Don't be; you're allowed to be jumpy, B."

Slowly, the throw was pulled down to reveal his face, hazel eyes now open and staring ahead, expressionless.

"Blaine, Blaine, c'mon look at me," slowly so as not to startle the boy again Kurt lay down beside him, eyes level with one hand still rubbing at his side. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing...some dickhead jocks wanted me to go back in the closet and I freaked out a little bit."

Kurt raised an eyebrow in disbelief, hand sliding up from near Blaine's slightly tender hip to cup his jaw, thumb rubbing with purpose under his left eye; just bellow the worst of the bruising causing Blaine to flinch slightly. He managed to stay composed until Kurt leant forward slowly, slowly, until damp, gentle lips pressed along the purple skin that Blaine was now positive was no longer hidden, brushing along the mark before kissing lightly over his closed lid, ending at the far corner, catching a tear as it leaked out.

His breath hitched, hurting his ribs and still sore lungs, as Blaine jolted with the effort to keep silent.

_"Don't you dare fucking cry, you worthless piece of crap." _

_"Anderson men do not cry."_

Strong, familiar arms folded themselves around his shoulders, wrapping him up tight enough to feel held together but careful enough that none of his injuries were aggravated.

"It's okay Blaine; it'll be okay...I promise."

_Breathe Blaine, c'mon it's not that hard, all living creature respire without thinking about. NOW FUCKING BREATHE._

Sobs wracked his frame, rattling his already battered bones so that he clutched desperately at the front of Kurt's hoodie with one hand and his abdominals with the other, like he was trying to rip the pain out of his body.

Kurt pressed his lips against his hairline, keeping them there so his words were spoken into Blaine's skin, hands pressing him closer the whole time.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to calm down again, at least to the point where it didn't feel like he would slip back down the rabbit hole head first, smack-bang back into the panic he feared he'd never get away from. Those smoke-black fingers would always be there, grabbing at his heals.

_It's never going to end._

"What's never going to end?"

Blinking, Blaine looked up to see Kurt's wide sea-green eyes locked on his, more specifically locked onto his eye that still felt swollen despite the hours he spent icing it while he tried (failed) to sleep. He must have said it out loud, mumbled into the soft cotton of the t-shirt peeking out of the V left by the half zipped jacket.

"Blaine, what's never going to end?"

Shaking his head he ducked back down to bury his face into his ex-boyfriend's chest, reveling in the feeling of being held so lovingly; it wasn't going to last so why shouldn't he indulge in the small bit of comfort he was never going to get from Kurt again?

Quiet hushing and soothing sounds broke into his mind, bringing with it the awareness of his own repeated, slightly frantic mumbling of "no, no, no, can't - I can't, please don't make me."

"It's okay, no one's going to make you do anything, baby."

"I don't...you'll get hurt too."

* * *

Kurt frowned; the other boy didn't seem to be aware of half of what he was saying. "I won't."

"Don't want you to get hurt again 'cause of me." Blaine's face was firmly pressed into his torso, forehead just above his heart, so that he couldn't lay eyes on his bruised and battered one. Just thinking about how..._fresh_ it looked cause his shoulders to tense in rage.

A small, cut off whimper dragged his attention back to the boy in his bed. Pulling back far enough that he could see Blaine clearer, he glanced down to see Blaine's face screwed up in pain, lips bitten harshly and breathing heavily through his nose.

"B..."

"Hurts."

Reaching behind himself quickly Kurt grabbed the bottle of water and packet of painkillers from his nightstand. "Sit up for a moment honey," Moving slowly so as not to make anything worse Kurt help lift Blain into a slumped but upright position, so he could swallow down some of the pills.

He shifted back a few inches, resting against his pillows and headboard, moving Blaine with him, back to his chest with Kurt's arms wrapped around his stomach, Blaine's head tipped back where his neck met collar bone.

They stayed silent for close to an hour, Blaine's breathing eventually evened out so that he no longer sounded winded with every inhale. He was beginning to think the boy had slipped into another uneasy sleep when he spoke.

"I'm sorry."

"Why on Earth would you be sorry?"

"We're not...you shouldn't have to deal with this."

The frown on Kurt's face deepened, eyes shining with unshed tears over how hollow, _lost_, the senior sounded. "Blaine..." his voice sounded strangled, clearing it he tried again, "you're my best friend," _I still love you more than anything,_"this isn't something I'm 'dealing with'; I _want_ to help you."

Taking a deep breath when Blaine shifted awkwardly between his legs, remaining silent, Kurt pushed on. "Something else is going on, don't tell me it's nothing because what happened? That was _not_ a normal reaction to being locked in a janitor's closet." He paused to run his fingers though Blaine's destroyed hair, trying to put some form of order back into the curls he adored but were hated by the boy in his arms. "Getting angry, yelling for help sure, but Blaine I thought you...you fucking terrified me today, you were trying to scream but nothing was happening because you just, you _stopped fucking breathing_ and you passed out and cracked your head on the floor before I could grab you."

Sighing, Kurt scrubbed one hand over his face, gripping at his hair before it returned to playing with the curls he'd missed so much. Another deep, fortifying breath.

"Something happened to do that to you; to make you that scared and I just, I _need_ to know what because how am I supposed to protect you if I don't know what's trying to brake you in the first place?"

Blaine's eyes were leaking slowly with tears again, scaring tracks down his sweat-damp cheeks, bleeding into Kurt's neck from where Blaine's head rested on his skin. "You don't have to protect me from anything."

"Yes, yes I do, I told you I'd never let anything else happen to you, remember? The night before Junior Prom."

Blaine had been so nervous that night, worried over reliving the horror of his Sadie Hawkins experience, having it happen to Kurt, worried about hiding his fear from everyone that he couldn't hid it from his boyfriend. In the end Kurt had stopped his jerky pacing in his bedroom before they left for the school by grabbing his jaw and kissing him until he felt Blaine's body melt into his own, _"I won't let anyone touch you; they won't get near you tonight. I promise."_

Clearly he'd failed because someone was hurting him. From getting his, whatever Blaine was to him now, up to his room from the truck Kurt had noticed the markings on his face, the half-conscious winces and whimpers when a certain body part moved in a particular manner. Waiting until Blaine was passed out on the bed, eyes darting from under his lids, Kurt had carefully removed all traces of foundation and cover-up on the boys face, revealing a thick, angry black and purple ring around his left eye, light bruising along his jaw.

Someone had _beaten_ Blaine long before he'd got to school and been thrown into a pitch black room to be consumed by fear and panic.

"S'differen' now."

Staying quiet for moment Kurt stared at the love of his life in disbelief, because that's what Blaine was, the love of his life, the man he was meant to be with. _Soulmates._ Everything with Adam had just proved it to him - Blaine was it for him; they could work everything out. Because high school relationships don't last forever, and maybe that's what they were before, but they're anything but high school kids now, if they ever were to start with.

Clearly he stayed silent a beat too long because Blaine looked down, moving slow as if he was making to get up and leave. Kurt snapped back into action, arms snaking around his waist again, squeezing gently and burying his head in Blaine's curls.

"No, no it's not."

"What?"

"It's not different."

"I don't, what are you saying?"

"I love you."

Blaine stiffened momentarily, turning it over and over in his head just like he did the first time Kurt had told him he was proud of him; like it was a foreign concept that he'd never heard before.

"I never stopped and I'm beginning to realise that I never will, and I don't want to either. So yeah, it is my job to protect you Blaine, because I can't handle the thought of you breaking and not being there." Blaine was still tense, he relaxed just enough to slump back into the cradle of Kurt's arms but he was still coiled tight.

"Please, please let me help you."

"It was my dad, he's been h-hitting me si-since I was s-six." The whispered admission felt like he'd just been socked in the stomach; Blaine sounded so broken, so done, like all the fight abandoned him because he was suddenly crying again, curling back into the other boy's body, letting Kurt turn him to sit sideways in his lap and rock him gently.

They ended up lying back down, the throw tangled around their calves as they lay nose-to-nose, Blaine still crying but no longer gasping for air.

Tracing over the younger boy's face, Kurt bit lip hesitantly. "What about the closet?"

Swallowing, Blaine's eyes dropped from his, focussing somewhere near the collar of his t-shirt instead of on his eyes. "When I came out...he um, he grabbed me by the neck an-and dragged me to the closet by the kitchen - said I should've, should've stayed in it. I was there for four hours the first time."

"The first time..." Blinking Kurt had to fight to urge to hunt down the Andersons as Blaine's words ran wild in his mind, sinking in with a feeling of dread. "Does he do this often?"

Blaine still wouldn't look at him but he nodded, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Only if he's really angry with me." Frowning he shivered slightly, "I don't like it, it's worse than the beatings," shuffling closer he muttered into Kurt's collar bone, "I looked it up. Apparently I have all the symptoms of Claustrophobia...and a few others on top of that too. Did you know that it's an irrational fear? I don't have a reason to be scared but it, it feels like I'm dying every time."

Kurt was shaking his head before Blaine even trailed off, lips pursed in thought. "Your fear is anything but irrational Blaine; it's triggered. You have more than enough reasons to be scared of being trapped, don't ever let anyone tell you that you have no reason to be frightened."

"All the websites say it though." He burrowed a few centimeters closer, sighing when Kurt tightened his arms around him in response.

"Fuck the websites." He pressed a firm kiss to the creases in Blaine's forehead, "I'll do everything I can to make sure it never happens again."

"You're only home for the weekend Kurt, you can't guarantee that...I only have to last another few months til I graduate and then I can leave. I can last that long."

"You shouldn't have to 'last' til graduation honey, you had a panic attack that could've ended really badly if Marley and Britt hadn't walked past when they did. I can't lose you, I won't, not again."

Knowing that this was more than enough for now Kurt gathered the other boy back into his arms, tracing butterfly kisses over his face, focussing on the bruises marring his beautiful tan skin. He'd talk to his dad and Finn as soon as they each got home from work; there was no way in hell he was letting Blaine set foot back in a house with that man, (he wasn't a fucking man), ever again if he had his way.

"I'm never saying goodbye to you Blaine Anderson."

* * *

_And that's the end. I'd had it all written, plotted and posted on my blog for ages before deciding to move it over to here.  
__If you're interested in the other blangsty shit I've been writing/have written it's all over there._

_I'm really glad people seemed to be liking this and sincerely hope the ending has lived up to your expectations._

_X_


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